sab

I walked to Denny's this morning and several of the driveways had been hosed down so the sidewalks were slick and black and there were puddles between the road and the curb where, in a normal city, gutters would be. Coupled with the low-hanging marine layer it was what would be known as a rainy morning in a civilized non-desert town. It was cool enough to wear jeans, at least at eight am, and I hiked the twelvish blocks with my headphones on, listening to the Scrubs soundtrack which has been on repeating time-loop in the iPod of my brain (outside my brain I don't have an iPod, just an 8x oversampling old-skool discman someone in my family bought at some airport or trainstation at some point, sent to me in the mail by my mom when my pudgy pink Sony was stolen from my car back in the Great Music Theft of Ought-Three).

And so I give you Francis Dunnery's "Good Life" -- Francis Dunnery who we knew from the deliciously infectious "American Life in the Summertime" off...some old compilation that went the way of the pink discman (in the hot desert summer of Ought-Three). I've never met a musical montage I didn't like -- if you've swung a cat around these parts you know this about me -- this is off a late Season 1 ep when Perry realizes he might still be in love with Jordan, and he tortures himself with a little slideshow of wedding pics and the requisite skippy home-video sequence of football-tossing, tackling, and kissing in the grass.

["Good Life," Francis Dunnery - MP3]

Thanks for your smart friends and keep 'em coming.

*

Meanwhile, Operation Gay Chicken: Make Scrubs a Fandom! continues apace.

ladyjaida let out a barbaric yawp for fannish squeeing and it's our duty to ride in and kick up some proverbial dust.

Bottom line is this -- I want to make some noise about Scrubs before it goes the way things go when there's no real fanbase and there's no real buzz. It doesn't deserve to go to that place. That place is for things like "Becker," and that new Cosby show that had Madeline Kahn in for a while. That place is for some TGIF series that followed "Sabrina: The Teenage Witch" that, while no one could tell you the name of a single cast member, somehow made it four seasons and enough episodes to get stripped into syndication on the few straggling independent networks still coughing and sputtering in major cities, somewhere between the college years "Saved By the Bell" and post-lottery era "Roseanne," in the middle of the afternoon on a nonspecific weekday. I've been burned so bad by TV cancellation that I'm already bemoaning Scrubs' fate, despite the fact that it's got a fighting shot for the title belt this year, where the title belt is Friends' newly vacated plum spot on Must-See Thursday.

That being said, and with due props to

apathocles and

knitting_girl, rather than go ahead with a ficathon (which is scary, 'cause, deadlines, assignments, yah), I'll resort to good old-fashioned bribery.

I give you!

scrubsfic!

Everyone who writes a Scrubs fic of >500 words will get, from me, an icon of her request.

Everyone who writes a Scrubs fic of >2000 words will get, from me, a Scrubs fic of >500 words.

Everyone who pimps Scrubs to their friends will, in turn, get pimped by me.

And anyone who torrents/downloads/burns copies of Scrubs for non-Scrubsy friends will get, from me, a 2005 Audi TT Convertible with 12-speaker Surround Sound, and a dinner date with Zach Braff.

I'll inaugurate the community right now, with a bottle of champagne and a big-ass truck. Come join, and tell your friends.

Softly now, you owe it to the world.